


Gentle Hands

by Amymel86



Series: The Outside [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dystopian, F/M, Modern AU, Soldier!Jon, Wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:46:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26855425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/pseuds/Amymel86
Summary: It certainly hadn’t hurt as much as when he’d died.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: The Outside [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1929445
Comments: 21
Kudos: 133
Collections: Jonsa Autumn Drabbles 2020





	Gentle Hands

**Author's Note:**

> heyhey! This is a late entry for jonsadungeonsanddrabbles autumn event - for one of yesterday's prompts 'changes'. It is a continuation of a previous fic and you'll need to have read the others (found in the series 'The Outside') to follow this one.
> 
> I'm playing a bit fast and loose with this story but have a vague idea of how it could pan out.
> 
> In this section, Jon mentions 'The Invasion' - this is the term people in this au use to describe the modern wight apocalypse that started off this dystopian present. There are no wights in this story though because they have already been defeated. This au is kind of the aftermath with people trying to reclaim lands and power etc

It certainly hadn’t hurt as much as when he’d died – but back then there had been a sort of numbness. After he’s accepted what was happening there was even peace within his body before his mind slipped into the wolf. He couldn’t allow himself the same peace when he’d carved out his tracker using a knife. His mind was as sharp as the pain. It reminded him of the time a piece of shrapnel had lodged in the meat of his thigh during blast. He still has a scar from that.

 _This will scar too,_ Jon thinks as he clutches the material of his t-shirt onto his wound. The pristine white was bleeding redder and redder.

“C’mon,” Sansa whispers, leading him towards a long abandoned building. She’d woken to him gritting his teeth, blade slicing skin, digging into flesh, blood dripping on the stone beneath them. They’ve been walking in the grey dawn light for about two hours now.

The building looks as though it had some sort of commercial use before The Invasion, though quite what it traded in, Jon could only guess once they were safely inside. There were empty metal rails and human models made of plastic. He thinks it may have been civilian clothing supply. “This place is empty,” he says, watching Sansa as she seems to be searching for something.

“I’m just...” she’s running her hand over the counter. Jon thinks this would have been the area that the civilians would have handed over their currency in exchange for their chosen clothing. “It’s got to be here somewhere...”

“What?” The balled-up t-shirt clutched to his arm is now a deep, rich red all over.

She ducks under the counter but comes back up looking frustrated before she notices the thing with buttons beside her. “Ah-ha! Here we go. _Look_ ,” she says, beckoning him closer, “these missing buttons here – “ Jon moves closer, suddenly very aware that Sansa is still wearing his jacket and that he has no shirt on. He’s not sure why his mind should fixate on that. “They usually scratch it into a piece of furniture or something – that’s why I was looking all over the counter. But I think they’ve done it with the missing buttons of the cash register here.”

“Done what?...and _who_?”

Sansa turns to him, a smile as bright as the sun on her lips. “ _The Resistance,”_ she beams, dazzling him, “they hide supplies in places like this. These are clues on where to find them.”

Jon’s brow furrowed. “You’re... with The Resistance?” That particular group of civilians-turned-rebels had been plaguing The Watch’s operations for a few years now.

Sansa’s grin grew wider. “My brother _is_ The Resistance.”

He was left to ponder that for a second or three. The Resistance was his enemy. But that was when he was a Crow. He doesn’t know what he is now.

“The missing buttons are T, C, 4 and 7.”

“What does that mean?” Jon was starting to feel a little lightheaded from his blood-loss.

Sansa taps at her lips with her forefinger as she thinks. Jon’s mesmerized by the action. Oddly, he can feel the rhythm of her taps in his veins as his pulse starts to feel thick and loud. She’s staring at nothing at all before her gaze refocuses and darts around the area. Jon watches her sky eyes look upward.

“It’s not T-C! It’s C-T!” Sansa exclaims, excitedly. “ _Ceiling tiles!”_ She starts pointing and counting up at the ceiling but Jon’s mind is too foggy right now to follow her meaning until she stops and spins, facing him again. “It’s either the fourth along and seventh down or seventh along and fourth down. Can you give me a boost up so I can look?”

She’s light – how is she so light? – and Jon is thankful because giving Sansa a boost up to stand on his shoulders damn near makes his wounded arm feel like it’s burning right through. He grits his teeth to hide his pain. He’s done training where he had to carry one of his brother’s on his back through the obstacle course and Jon can safely say that he would much rather be carrying Sansa, searing arm pain or not. He reaches up, steadying her by holding her calves and making sure to plant his boots square and sturdy. The first ceiling tile she tries to move doesn’t budge. She asks him to move slowly to another while keeping her on his shoulders. She has surprisingly good balance for a civilian.

The next ceiling tile shifts at her touch and her head soon disappears into the dark cavern that it reveals. “Here we go,” she says before Jon watches two large black bags fall by his feet. She wobbles a bit on his shoulders.

“Jump back. I’ll catch you,” he says.

She follows his command, pushing off from his shoulders. His arms circle tightly around her with a grunt before she hits the floor. He’d managed to catch her around the thighs but this then meant that her belly and those special curves on her chest were so very close to his face. She felt soft – _how does she feel so soft?_

He needed to put her down.

But he didn’t want to.

“Let’s see what’s in the packs,” Sansa said gently. Jon met her eyes, swaying a little on his feet. He swallowed thickly and put her down. “Hopefully there’s a first aid kit,” she said, tucking her nice hair behind her ear. Her cheeks look a little pink.

Jon liked that pink.

There was more in the bags than he had anticipated; warm clothing, food, a hunting blade, maps and most importantly, medical supplies.

Sansa had quietly cleaned his wound. He liked her touching him – even if it was just for medical care. Jon wonders if she had been in the medic unit back at The Watch, how many Crows would force an injury just to be cared for under her gentle hands. He already knows that _he_ would.

The stitches sting some, but he doesn’t mind.

“I didn’t trust you before because...” her voice is quiet and she’s concentrating on her work and his flesh, but Jon can’t see anything but her. “... well, I thought maybe you helped me escape so that I would take you to my brother and tell your Crow friends where to find him.”

Jon is quiet for a while as he thinks that over. It’s a solid tactic, albeit an underhanded one. “And you don’t think that anymore?”

She finally looks up to his eyes. She’s _so_ close to him now, she makes his heart hurt a little just by being near. There’s a smile on her lips when she says, “no, I don’t think that anymore.”


End file.
